A dark adapted eye
by EGL
Summary: Long delay but now rolling again (3 wheels on my wagon and no injuns in sight) 3 new chapters up and more to follow over the next couple of weeks. ANY comments, rude or otherwise, gratefully received
1. Default Chapter

This story was written in response to the 'ABC' challenge at LL. All comments gratefully received

**_Dr Lecter and Clarice Starling belong to Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement is intended._**

"A dark adapted eye only uses the rods in the retina to collect light. They are situated away from the fovea, so, to see in the dark, ladies and gentleman, you need to look a little to the side of the item of interest." So said the instructor, so long ago in Quantico. So very far away from an enclosed storm drain in Buenos Aires.  
  
"Bats are neat", thought Agent Starling – "Don't need eyes to see and can fly over all this shit"  
  
Calling up the mental map of the storm drain, Clarice knew there were three turnoffs to the left and two to the right, alternating. Her quarry could be meeting in any of them. Backup was on its way, but her blood was up, she wanted to be in at the kill, not languishing in an airless van with the radio and tapes, not sitting sweltering behind the wheel of a car waiting for the call to come clear up the mess.  
  
DEA work was all Clarice could get after she had committed professional suicide, by the Chesapeake. They were looking for rogue agents with a feckless attitude to love, life and the pursuit of happiness for particularly dirty jobs. As the only female in the squad, despite her proven firearm skills, she found herself at the bottom of the pile – useful as decoy meat but untrustworthy until blooded.  
  
Equivocation wasn't in Clarice's nature. Ardelia had pleaded with her but Clarice's mind was made up. Perversely, she felt that she was due some punishment. She had failed the system but chiefly herself. In Clarice's universe, now, she had to pay the piper. Creeping along a stinking drain, in the dark, seemed entirely appropriate.  
  
"Fuck it. Can't see. Can't hear" There was water running in the base of the drain – loud enough to mask any clumsy movements Clarice might make but also preventing her from hearing any voices or footsteps. There was a long echo in the drain, as well, making judgement of distance or direction of any sound almost impossible. Clarice gritted her teeth. "They must use a light to count the money and examine the goods" she reasoned, hopefully. She continued to look a little to the right and then the left to maximise her chances of picking up a single photon.  
  
Grating of metal on concrete froze her to the spot. Had that come from behind her or up ahead ? Then running splashes and imprecations in Spanish. She had been seen. The running feet were behind her. To her dismay she saw a light reflecting off the walls of the tunnel a long way ahead.  
  
Hunter turned to quarry. How predictable, thought Clarice. How fitting to die face down in a tunnel. One chance – the side branch a little way ahead to her left. Heart hammering. Buy time.  
  
Instant action had always been a saviour for Clarice. It allowed the purest part of her to surface - her physical subconscious.  
  
Jumping over a pile of twisted metal and plastic bottles she entered the side tunnel. It was darker still. She daren't turn her light on. She kept her left hand in contact with the wall while feeling with her feet. She had to keep moving. She could taste the fear at the back of her throat. Her hands and knees were trembling. The gun in her hand felt heavy and not at all reassuring. There was light now, behind her, reflecting off the heap of rubbish at the junction. She was about to start running when she felt something grab her left wrist and wrap around her waist. Clarice was yanked sideways into a void.  
  
"Know thy enemy. Examine your ground" thought Clarice bitterly. "How pathetic. Nothing more than you deserve, girl" She waited for the blade but it was a long time coming. Instead she found herself compressed by an arm wrapped around her waist from behind. She sensed that she was in a small alcove, being turned to face the wall. The body behind her was absolutely still and felt perfectly balanced. She heard the snick of a knife opening as the light from her pursuers bounced off the walls and the slime in the side tunnel. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a shaft of reflected light hit the blade. It was a harpy. Clarice realised she wasn't surprised.  
  
"Lacerating" was the word that sprang to Clarice's mind. What had happened to her when they last met, what had happened since and what was probably going to happen now.  
  
"Mi madre .... "were the only words Clarice heard before there was the splatter of blood against concrete some shuffling and a sluggish sigh like an old accordion breathing its last. All light extinguished and just the dripping water and sounds of voices calling to one another.  
  
"Now" ordered her companion and Clarice felt herself being propelled along the tunnel again, into the blackness. He turned and shouted back down the tunnel in Spanish. "Ella no esta aqui "  
  
Overhead Clarice became aware of metal projections at intervals, simply because he pushed her head down and to the side from time to time. "Ladders" was all he said. Finally "Stop. Hands above you and to the left" Clarice felt for the rusted metal bars and felt herself lifted swiftly and her right foot guided to the first rung "Climb 10 rungs" She did as she was told and stopped again. She felt his limbs and body pass lightly by her, climbing the ladder sideways on. No breathing other than her own adrenaline compressed rasps.  
  
Pewter coloured light appeared above her head along with a rain of sand and grit as he opened the grate by main force. The air was damp and heavily scented with oleander but felt like a Montana morning to Clarice as he pulled her out of the drain and carefully closed the grate.  
  
"Quickly" he hissed, taking her by the elbow and directing her towards a low wall, surrounding a garden spiky with palms and bougainvillea. The light, Clarice could now see, was coming from a lamp over an elaborate wrought iron gateway.  
  
"Resistance is futile" thought Clarice and had to stifle a giggle. This was completely surreal. Unceremoniously he picked her up and almost tossed her over the wall. Clarice landed on her hands and knees. The grass was short and rough. There were sprinklers carving parabolas through the night air  
  
Self-consciously she turned to look at him properly for the first time in 18 months. He was washing his hands under the splash of a fountain, half concealed by ferns and moulded in the shape of a large scaled fish, spouting water from its mouth. His jaw line looked a little different, as did the nose and ears, but the set of his shoulders were the same. His movements, like the lock and load on a well used shot gun, were achingly familiar.  
  
Turning towards her he withdrew a linen handkerchief from his sleeve using just thumb and forefinger and shook it out. Against the dead black of his coveralls it looked impossibly white. He offered it to Clarice. She almost laughed out loud.  
  
Undreamed of even in her most secret and whimsical imaginings, he smiled, a fine open smile. Clarice, for an instant, saw someone else – a young man with the sun at his back holding a bottle of wine in one hand and two glasses in the other. He had got the joke. He looked up briefly at the night sky the muscles in his neck taught as annealed armour "OK Clarice, I surrender. I request a truce ..... under Orion " He extended the white square. Then he dropped his head with that smile she remembered from another place, intense and all enveloping. She reached for the linen. It would be rude not to. She joined him by the fountain and meticulously cleaned her hands, face and neck. She needed time to think. She was aware of being examined minutely  
  
"Violence becomes you Clarice" He was looking at her a little askance. Clarice looked directly at him. Uncompromising. 'He never lies'  
  
"Walk away Doctor, or I may do something I'll regret" He looked at her eyes bright with mischief. "It was customary in Medieval times for damsels in distress to reward their rescuer with a favour" Clarice stony faced, returned the soaked linen square to him. "Thank you Doctor but I don't subscribe to ancient rituals"  
  
"Xenophobic to the last Clarice. What a pity. I felt sure at Muskrat Farm that you were a natural traveller, Clarice, open to all manner of new perspectives and vistas. Clearly I was wrong. Better burn your passport when you get back to West Virginia " He carefully folded the linen and replaced it in his sleeve.  
  
"Yoked to a mule train, you will only ever be able to see straight ahead, Clarice, never open to any other perspective. All the intriguing action occurs at the edge of your vision, Clarice. Didn't they teach you that at Quantico ? How predictable." Clarice could feel her jaw muscles clench.  
  
"Zest for life not on the menu Clarice ? Acting as you did tonight I would expect you to be dead in 3 weeks in this city. A dark adapted eye never looks straight ahead." He considered her for a moment. "I'm sorry that I won't be able to show you the city by day. Buonas noches. Suenos dulces" A slight inclination of his head and he was gone with just a palm frond nodding in the diffuse light from the gate to show where he had passed. Clarice folded to her knees by the fountain hugging her stomach. 'Shit' 


	2. Aftermath

**Chapter 2 Aftermath**

**Exposition. Who's who in the food chain**

Many thanks to Running with Deer and Clariz for sharp blue pencils and creative suggestions for the rest of this.

_Usual disclaimers apply. Thomas Harris owns Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. No copyright infringement intended_

__

****

It was 3 am by the time Clarice had made her way back to the "office"

This was an airless room with yellow, green walls and a peeling linoleum floor, dimly lit by weak bulbs shining through dirty parchment shades. 'Same colour as the fourth horseman of the apocalypse' thought Clarice sourly. It was tucked behind a bar, close to the apartment block in which Clarice and a couple of the other guys, were living.

It wasn't a drug dealing area but it wasn't too upmarket, either. Their Argentinean liaison officer, Jose, had set up their cover. Ostensibly they were expat Americans working for a computer software business, who had started a poker school. This was supposed to account for their dishevelled appearance and the unpredictability of their comings and goings.

The guy who ran the bar had been specially chosen by the local police for his lack of curiosity and general sloth. He shaved about once per week. His eyes were red and watery, half closed against the smoke curling up from a crushed cigarillo rolled between full lips. When not smoking his lips seemed to part under their own weight revealing a row of brown teeth. He took the money for the rent of the room and asked no questions. The other clientele in the bar were 3 regular alcoholics and occasionally workers from the local offices, on their way home and a group of guys from the local garage who took their siesta in the bar and watched football on the TV.

The evenings, when this band of unhappy brothers and sister, met, were generally very quiet.

When Clarice finally arrived, they were all there – all 4 of them along with Jose their liaison officer and titular chief. They were all drinking beer. Jose was sweating heavily and turned on Clarice as soon as she shut the thin panelled door behind her. He had been desperate for a result that night and to his mind, Clarice had fucked it all up.

He practically stood on her toes, spitting at her as he reined invective over her head in English and Spanish. He stank of cheap cologne and old beer. The others watched with some interest to see how she would take it.

Clarice stood, relaxed, concentrating on the veins in Jose's eyes. He reminded her of a bull frog in a Florida swamp.

"If you had jumped to it when I called we would have nailed them" She said this quite calmly. "The LP was only 5 minutes from the storm drain – what kept you ?"

"Bitch ! Why didn't you do as I ordered ? Why you not wait ? Why you act like some dug sucking rookie cunt ?"

"Because I expected you to be there in 5 minutes – that's what you said at the briefing, Jose. 5 fucking minutes. They went in, 3 of them Diego included. If I hadn't followed we wouldn't have had a hope in hell of finding them in those tunnels. Oh ... and by the way, there must be at least one other entrance because I saw a light coming from the other end"

"Bullshit, fucking bullshit. Fucking bitch doesn't even know how a flashlight looks in a sewer. Can't even find her way down a straight tube. Can't tell her right tit from her left." This last produced a giggle from a couple of the other guys

Clarice's rejoinder was cool "So which ball are you going to grab when Inspector Fazaelis talks with you on Monday Jose ?" one of the guys hooted. Jose's pupils dilated

Bernard of the big physique and 'apocalypse now' mien pushed an apoplectic Jose to one side and pressed the tip of his Dos Sequis bottle between her breasts "Starling, it was fucking stupid, what you did. Now they know they are a fucking target – a month's fucking work down the fucking pan all down to a fucking whore who thinks she can shoot straight"

"How do you know that Bernie ? I found a body I didn't recognise with its throat cut up a side tunnel and no sign of Diego or his compadres. They didn't see me. Looks more to me like we stumbled over a little dealer set tripping than fucking up the surveillance"

Bernie blinked once. "Still don't know why they hired you Starling. All brains and no cunt makes a woman desperate ..... know what I mean ?"

"Yeah – desperate for any sign of sentient life "

Bernie took this as an invitation placed his hands on her shoulders and used his whole body to push her backwards against the wall, driving his hips up and in. The others shouted and whooped. Clarice realised that Jose didn't have the authority or credibility to control the situation. It was down to her. She didn't hesitate. She reached behind her for the knife in its sheath nestling in the small of her back and in one smooth arc brought the tip to bear at the angle of his left nostril and drew blood

"Back off " she spat

Bernie's head snapped back and he shifted his weight on to his heels. Clarice seized the moment and with the knife still at his nostril leaned into him and pushed him back.

Jose was screaming at them both. He realised that he was in real danger of losing control of everything.

Bernie was swinging his fist when Jose stepped between them and looked straight into Bernie's eyes.

"Enough." He bellowed "This is not the time. We had a long night. We meet tomorrow at lunchtime at the café. Starling you have first watch tomorrow morning, 6.30. Bernie put new film in the camera today. There will be no problems"

Bernie wiped his nose and studied her with a lugubrious expression. Clarice ignored him.

The others spat, dragged on their cigarettes and sipped lukewarm beer as they watched her.

Clarice expected no less. She had stepped out of line by not waiting for the big boys at the storm drain. 2 hours sleep and then she would be in a darkened room with just a camera, a telescope and flies for company. One ray of sunshine that made Clarice smile - she had just received a pack of CD's from Amazon. She could listen to some of her music, in peace, in that room.

"Sleep well boys" she said and swung out of the room with as much style as she could muster from her aching muscles

Back in her apartment she found that the water had been turned off and cleaned up as best she could with some refresher pads she had bought in a Pharmacia the previous day. She lay naked on her bed, spread-eagled in the heat and watched the light, filtered through her blinds making ripples on the ceiling. The electric fan rattled on her bedside table as it rotated. The fitful breeze was even more irritating than the sweat running off her body. She turned it off. The electric spark from the rocker switch was startlingly blue in the brown fug of the room.

"Now you need to sleep, girl, you can think tomorrow" Over the last year she had ground her self discipline to a honed perfection, 'enough to make a Jesuit jealous' thought Clarice acidly. She measured her breathing and was dead to the world in five minutes.


	3. Conversations over coffee

**Chapter 3 Conversations over coffee**

**They meet again**

_Usual disclaimers apply. Thomas Harris owns Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. No copyright infringement intended_

**ANY comments rude or other wise gratefully received, other wise how do we get better at these things ?**

By 6 am she was settled in the second floor room overlooking the plaza.

Three bottles of water in the rusting fridge in the corner; fan sitting on the floor, wheezing as it turned;. a worn sofa with a sweat stained sleeping bag tossed across one arm; two sagging wicker chairs and two tripods, one holding a video camera with a high power lens and the other a binocular telescope. The floor to ceiling shutters across the open window were half open, the paint peeling off, inside and out. There was a small wrought iron balcony with a design of curled fruit, just outside, covered in bird droppings and feathers. The room smelt of stale sweat, old cigarettes and Gatorade.

The square below had a small fountain in the centre, which was turned on at 7 am. It was surrounded by a semi formal garden with acacia trees and 4 triangles of sunburnt grass. There were shops and confiteras around the perimeter, but most importantly, directly opposite Clarice, were the offices of a taxi firm, underneath the shade of a cloister extending the entire southern side of the plaza.

They had been watching this office for 3 weeks, recording comings and goings on the camera. The hooded lens needed constant adjustment as the sun drifted across the square.

They were looking for one individual in particular – Diego Valdes according to his latest passport – a big dealer with, more potently, many shady, political connections. Jose was desperate to catch this particular big carp

There was activity in the office almost 24 hours per day. They only expected to see Valdes when it was quiet when his body guards would have a clear view of the plaza and everyone in it, but not this early in the morning. Buenos Aires was a city for night people. More likely to see him during siesta, so, Jose just assigned one person to the early morning watch.

This was Clarice's favourite time. The street cleaners had just swept the plaza and sprayed the paving with water. The smell of the geraniums and lavender planted around the square, drifted up to the room as the sun heated up the stones. There was some activity in the square – deliveries to the cafes, night workers returning to their apartments, a gardener in a floppy straw hat cleaning leaves out of the fountain. This purposeful domestic activity comforted Clarice. It reassured her that some people enjoyed ordinary lives.

Clarice sipped some iced water from the bottle sitting in the shade of her chair. She splashed some water on her neck and immediately, it brought back the picture of his hands under the fountain, last night.

She had woken that morning and had viewed the night's events as a hazy nightmare. Now looking onto the sun soaked plaza she knew it was true. So...he was here. He had been watching her. How had he known where to find her ? Stupid question. Her move had been trumpeted in the press and spun by the FBI as corporate kindness – getting her out of the media's eye and not simply firing her ass but re-crafting her career in another arena. Why was he watching ? Another stupid question although....she had assumed that he wouldn't have wasted his time, once she had given him her answer. "Nut with a crush"- the phrase sat like a burning coal in the palm of her hand. Maybe it was just serendipity. Maybe fate had other ideas.

Clarice wasn't naturally superstitious, but viewing her life dispassionately, all her self made efforts had come to nothing. Lately she had felt that greater forces than she could see were pulling strings she didn't know existed.

Now.....what to do ? Call Washington. Would they believe her ? Almost certainly not. She would need proof. So she would have to flush him out again. She knew how to do that – distress of one flavour or another. Tell the others, right now ? No way, until she had the proof. Fanciful schemes floated through Clarice's head as she sipped her water and watched the taxi office.

About 8 am the confitera on the west side of the square put out its chrome tables and chairs and opened up its umbrellas – the colour of a savannah sky . Early morning workers with set expressions on their faces, still inanimate with sleep, settled at the tables and opened newspapers and absently lit cigarettes over their espressos. There was one waiter – a tall thin lad of about 18 with black hair spiked with hair gel. He had long hands with knobbly fingers and an immaculately starched long white apron tied around his waist. He moved with self conscious speed and élan, spinning and tilting his tray of sparkling white cups and glasses of iced water, flicking the tables with a stiff white napkin and sorting and counting change out of the soft leather pouch around his waist with one or two flicks of his forefingers.

Clarice watched fascinated for a minute. She loved to watch people who were masters of their art.

A flurry of activity in the office guiltily snapped her eyes to the video camera. Nothing important – coffee and pastries being delivered to the front door.

Her eyes wandered back to the waiter and the café. He was standing by one of the tables, weight on one leg, tray balanced on widely spread fingers. He was talking, to someone seated at the table, his left hand relaxed by his side. He half turned, still talking over his shoulder, as he moved away.

Clarice's breath stopped somewhere in her chest. He was there, sitting at the table, his right hand lying over a rolled newspaper, one immaculately pressed trouser leg, crossed over another, his left arm resting over a book on his lap, his mutilated left hand not visible from this angle. He was wearing a dark grey linen suit with a white shirt, open at the neck. The way the collar lay made Clarice think that it must be silk. A black fedora hid half his face. He carefully removed it and placed it precisely alongside the newspaper. Not a hair out of place. Black and swept back, as she remembered. Longer than it had been at the Chesapeake but cut in a precise curve and peak to follow the curves of his neck. The skin smooth and unnaturally pale in this city of sun and open skies.

Clarice had immediately swung the binocular telescope around to get a better view.

In the basement, after the first shock of seeing him on the video, she had spent three evenings, sipping beer straight from the bottle watching him, over and over again, trying to marry his movements to that familiar and particular voice. She had hardly seen him move at all in Memphis or Baltimore and only heavily drugged memories of what had happened by the Chesapeake. She had never seen him in the full light of day. This was unknown territory for her – how he used his body. In the video she had been struck by the languor of his movements when he was actually choosing the essences for the perfume, even allowing for the jerkiness of the film, and the purposefulness of his walk. More toe than heel. Like a cat setting out for a night's revels.

'You should be watching the office Clarice ... you should be watching the office Clarice....' Clarice compromised. She lifted her head about once every three minutes to quickly glance across the square but the rest of the time her eyes devoured the small scene in the café below. She watched him intently, unblinking, like a fox watching a hare. She caught herself dissecting every gesture, every nuance. What manner of man is he now ......here .... in this place? Quiet or garrulous? Contained or flamboyant ? How does he treat the world around him ?

The waiter returned with a tall mug of chocolat and a thin crisp pastry dusted with icing sugar and a dripping glass of iced water with a sectioned lime amongst the ice cubes. The saliva was thick at the back of Clarice's throat. She couldn't reach for her water without moving her position.

Dr Lecter looked up at the waiter smiled and murmured a few words. The waiter paused for a moment to reply. Hand behind his back in almost a deferential pose, he nodded and then turned away into the café.

The doctor reached for the glass of water, sipped while looking straight ahead and licked his lips with one swift movement of his tongue. A shiver went down Clarice's spine. He lazily turned his head to right and left surveying the square and everyone in it and then raised his head a little to survey the higher levels of the plaza.

Clarice, startled, pulled back from the binoculars, deeper into the room and almost tipped over her rickety chair. 'Shit. Does he know we are here ? Of course he does Clarice – why would he be sitting there, otherwise ?' After counting slowly to 10 and breathing out slowly, Clarice moved back to the telescope. His head was bent. The book was open on his lap. Apart from turning the pages with his right hand and sipping occasionally from his mug of chocolat, he was completely still.

There was an intermittent breeze in the plaza, it ruffled the pages, but he simply put out one slim forefinger to hold the fluttering paper still. Clarice was dimly aware of the slapping sound of trainers on marble and the next instant the door to the room slammed open

"How ya doing Special Agent Starling ?" It was Zack, small, wiry, all tendons and ligaments like a piece of beef jerky, cured by the cigarettes he smoked almost continuously.

At the instant the door opened the Doctor looked up, and Clarice found herself staring directly into two eyes, as dark as plague pits. He hesitated only a second and then his eyes moved on to scan the rest of the second floor balconies. Clarice allowed herself to breathe out.

"Something going on or ya just admiring some cunt's jugs ? Let's see. Who knows, maybe our tastes in Latino pussy co-in-cide" He licked his lips and winked at Clarice He reached for the binoculars and stared fixedly for a moment ."What the fuck ? You getting wet for a 70 year old gardener?" Clarice smiled inwardly.

"No just scanning. Now you're here I'm going to get myself some breakfast. Want anything ?" She said this with ice in her voice.

"Pack of Marlboros and a lighter"

Clarice picked up her bag from the sofa and ran swiftly down the stairs.

The sun was blinding when she exited from the building and even at this time in the morning, she could feel it burning. She didn't hesitate. She walked straight to the café and sat down at the table next to him, her back to the room.

"You're following me"

"Hmmm" He hadn't moved when she sat down. But now he shut his book and placed it on the table by the newspaper. He carefully removed a slim black leather case from an inside pocket and unfolded it on the table revealing a chrome plated manicure set with slim ivory handles. He selected a long file and started to run it over the nails of his right hand. He held the file expertly between three fingers of his left hand. There was a neat scar where the thumb had been.

"I'm relieved to see that you haven't turned entirely into a creature of the night Clarice"

There was a pause with just the sound of the fountain and some distant traffic and the leisurely swish of the file against his nails.

"However, you do seem to have cultivated a death wish of monstrous proportions. I think too, that you are having no fun at all which, in this city, I would classify as a crime against humanity" He stopped filing and looked into the middle distance while reaching for his chocolat.

The waiter appeared from inside the café. Clarice ordered a café latte and some sliced melon and pancetta.

"Your Spanish is very good Clarice. Where did you pick up such an authentic cadence?"

"Oh here and there. On the streets"

"You must have an exceptional ear. What music do you listen to?" He had resumed his work, pushing back the cuticles.

"Can we talk about something else ? like what you think you're doing following me ?"

"I think it would be unwise to stray into emotional territory right now Clarice. The weasel with the nicotine addiction will notice. In fact, it would be sensible to have a story to tell him of inconsequential conversations with Argentinian gentlemen. He will require a full report, I'm sure" With this he turned in his chair to look at her properly and smiled. That full on smile from last night. Clarice's heart skipped a beat. This she didn't recognise. This wasn't him.

The waiter returned and laid a snow white plate with the pale melon and dusky pink pancetta on the table by Clarice's elbow. Doctor Lecter leaned forward and raised one manicured forefinger to retrieve the bill from the waiter's tray. "Please, allow me."

"So .... Music" He raised an eyebrow. At that instant a red Ducatti bike slewed to a stop at the top of the square. Clarice recognised the sound. It was Jose. Something must be up, they weren't due to meet until lunchtime.

Dr Lecter smiled impishly. "Duty calls, I see. Well ... until next time Clarice" and he gave an infinitesimal bow from the waist and picked up his book again.

Clarice snatched her bag and sprinted back to the building


	4. The set up

**Chapter 4 The set up**

Many thanks to Clariz and RwD for applying sharp blue pencils and various ideas to these next 3 chapters.  
  
_Usual disclaimers. Dr Lecter and Clarice Starling belong to Thomas Harris. No copyright infringement is intended.  
_  
ANY comments, rude or otherwise gratefully received, otherwise how do any of us learn to do it better ? I find I get to a point where I can't pare any more - vision is too blurred. This is setting things up for the next 2 chappies, so possibly a bit long and boring.  
  
Jose was there, a sweat patch in the shape of an axe darkening the back of his shirt. He wiped his lips and forehead with a yellow handkerchief that used to be white. He looked anxious. Zak was sitting straddled across one of the wicker chairs, arms draped over the unravelling back.  
  
"Good news – a meeting tonight in La Boca. Tonight ..." and Jose slammed his right fist into his left palm.  
  
Clarice frowned "Another meeting ? – so soon - after last night ?"  
  
Jose sniffed and came up a little on his toes "My sources I trust."  
  
Clarice raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Zack looked at her intently, rolling a match between his teeth.  
  
"You can watch close by I think – there are many prostitutes in the area – just ... you need some stockings, a short skirt a tight shirt ..."  
  
Zack grinned at Clarice and spat on the floor.  
  
Clarice turned to face Jose "I thought you used your own people for this sort of job –  
I 'm fair skinned, copper hair – I don't look like anyone who would be working there. The other girls will know immediately who and what I am."  
  
"No, no – we can't use any of ours any more – they are all recognised now, all useless." Jose's eyes began to slide to the left.  
  
"I don't like it. "  
  
"You don't like it ? you don't like it ? what choice you have ?" Jose was turning red and the sweat had broken out on his top lip. His voice had gone up half an octave. "You know what happens if you refuse ? "His finger described an arc across his throat "No job, no references. Nothing. Anyway, what the matter with you ? You know what women are used for in the DEA. You know before you come here." Jose looked at Clarice with thinly disguised contempt. Zack continued to stare fixedly at her and chew his match.  
  
Jose was right of course, she had known what to expect – it was half the reason she had applied wasn't it ? "Flaying the flesh, cleanses the soul" so said a visiting priest to the Lutheran orphanage. She remembered, he had hands like her Father, small with quick tense movements, as if he were afraid they would fly beyond his control.  
  
Clarice turned to look out of the window. The plaza was busier now – scooters, more people walking, carrying bags. Her eyes moved directly to the café. The table was empty. She swiftly scanned the inside of the café and the rest of the Plaza. Nothing. She was aware of a vague ache just at the base of her sternum.  
  
"OK. What time and where ?" Clarice's lips compressed. Jose sketched the details for her. "We will be watching from a building across the street – no problem" He said with airy contempt.  
  
"Like you were last night" said Clarice acidly  
  
"Different, different – we will be able to see you and them. No problem" Jose looked at his watch. "We meet at the bar at 8pm – you should go and do whatever you have to do until then." He gave her a glassy eyed stare and then turned to Zack "Franco comes in one hour."  
  
"Got my cigarettes Starling or were you too busy sucking that fags cock ?"  
  
"The guy with the silk next to his skin and the fancy manicure set."  
  
Clarice shook her head impatiently "Just a fucking resident. Zack. He could see I was American."  
  
"Quien, Cual ?" Jose's voice was rising again. "Who is this you talk to ?"  
  
"Oh just some guy eyeing up Claaareeece's assets"  
  
"Where ? when?" Jose's voice was sharper still "You got him on video?"  
  
"Calm down will ya Jose – he wasn't any of the guys you showed us"  
  
"In the Café Valerie" said Clarice wearily indicating the open window. Jose moved quickly, considering his girth "Where?"  
  
"He's gone" said Clarice flatly.  
  
Jose stood clenching and unclenching his hands and looking out across the plaza. He had gone quite pale. He turned and came right up to Clarice and looked directly into her eyes. "Now...you go."  
  
Clarice returned his gaze, unblinking and finally turned to pick up her bag and left the room.  
  
She spent the rest of the day buying the clothes and shoes she needed for the evening and having her hair inexpertly dyed with blond streaks. This last effort cost her dear – she gave little thought to her appearance, ordinarily but of her hair, she was justifiably proud.. 'One night, that's all and anyways it'll grow out in a couple of months'  
  
She looked in the reflections of shop windows from time to time, sat at café tables staring into the mirror in the lid of her compact so she could see over her shoulder. She didn't catch even a glimpse of him.


	5. Six inch heels

**Chapter 5 Six inch heels**

**A shorty**  
  
_Disclaimers apply. Thomas Harris owns Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. I'm just borrowing the personas for fun. No copyright infringement contemplated or intended.  
_

At 8 pm Clarice eased her feet inside her 6 inch red patent heels and gathered her resolve. Playing whores for hire had never been her forte, but she was damned if she was going to give Jose or any of the others the satisfaction of flunking this particular test. She swung the black bag, covered in diamante over her shoulder and teetered into the bar. The guys were at one end, heads together with Jose. Zack, the sharpest of the group, idly looked over his shoulder as she entered and placed her bag on the counter. He turned back to Jose and then slowly rotated back again on his bar stool.  
  
"Well look at this will y'all? Fresh West Virginia ho!"  
  
Franco and Jared whistled and Bernie looked her over, unblinkingly. "You dirty up pretty well Starling."  
  
Jose moved away from the group and came up to Clarice as she took her beer from the bartender. He looked her up and down once. "Is good, very good" He forced a smile. "OK no hard feelings. Lets plan. Tonight is very important" He said this fiercely, looking up at Clarice from underneath a pair of frowning brows. None of this looked real to Clarice. It felt like some elaborate blooding ritual. The inevitability of it all, dragged at her guts. 'Make the best job of it you can, Clarice' How many times had she said that to herself in the last 3 years ?  
  
Jose pulled a folded sheet of paper from his shirt pocket and smoothed it out on the bar. It was a map of La Boca. He began his exposition. He sounded like an airport tourist brochure. "Caminito Street – named after a popular tango and well frequented by tourists during the day. Like an open air museum and recommended for a visit in quieter times. Outside of this – a poorer area with a waterfront with narrow streets. Some small squares with one or two cafes." Jose became expansive, describing the buildings, some with balconies, leaning in a little, permanently shaded during the day and black at night except for the occasional lamp, fixed to walls at corners and sometimes half way along a stretch of alleyway.  
  
Clarice could feel her abdominal muscles contracting and ice running down her spine. Fine if you were with people you knew and trusted ..... but then, she had never faltered. No matter what she had been asked to do. That was part of the job – looking straight into the hurricane's eye.  
  
Jose had laid a hand on Clarice's arm. "No walking or talking we just want you to sit at this café so you can see up this street" He indicated one of the lines with a nicotine stained finger "Someone comes to you – you tell them to go away, you are waiting for a trick – then the other girls won't bother you. We expect Diego at this house at 11 or 12. You drop your bag on the ground when you see him. OK ?"  
  
"No wire, no radio ?" Clarice asked sharply  
  
"No, too obvious, anyway, no need – we are right there"  
  
"Special Agent Starling feeling a little exposed ?" This from Franco, he of the twisted smile and bitter tongue "You're not in the FBI now, Special Agent Starling. No battalions of backup boys. No fancy wires or mikes. Just your wits or in this case ..... tits" He flashed his teeth at Clarice. Zack laughed out loud and Jared with the pale blue eyes and almost hairless skin giggled.  
  
Clarice quietly sipped her beer and listened to them discussing hookers they had taken, dealers they had wasted, bars they had trashed. Bernie watched her from underneath half lidded eyes. She returned his gaze unblinkingly. She felt almost completely dislocated from these men and this place.  
  
Her mind began to wander. Why was flaying the flesh good for the soul? Would all this shit really make her feel any better? There was a thought beginning to uncoil unpleasantly at the back of her mind – that she had taken this job because she had lacked the courage to cut the cord and get out.  
  
Jared was giggling. In the yellow light their teeth, the set of their heads on their shoulders – leaning forward over their drinks, looking at her, made her think of a clan of hyenas. "They eat corpses", she thought.  
  
Jose was sweating freely, his eyes never still, sliding across the mirror behind the bar, flicking to right and left looking at the other tables but never resting on Clarice. Finally he said "let's go" He tipped the bottle to his lips and drained the dregs.  
  
Jose took his bike. The others jostled themselves into one taxi and Clarice took another on her own. The driver was silent. Clarice sat back and watched the lights and let the wind through the open window dry the sweat off her face. She felt as if she had abrogated all responsibility to another place. She had felt this before, on high risk raids. "Drifting on the Styx" was what John Brigham had called it. A way to mentally prepare for battle. 


	6. Ill met by moonlight

**Chapter 6 Ill met by moonlight**

**Yes ... pant, pant .... they meet again and the sht hits the fan  
  
**_Usual disclaimers apply. Thomas Harris owns Clarice Starling and Hannibal Lecter. No copyright infringment intended_

_  
_  
The taxi dropped her a couple of streets away from the café, on the waterfront near the Puento Trasbordador. The great iron skeins of the bridge lit by solitary lights along its span, looked like a medieval war machine. There was someone in a rowing boat, gently sculling across the oily water.  
  
She was about 10 minutes from the café. It gave her time to get into the rhythm of walking in her heels and time to look around.  
  
"The right shoes make a woman puuurrr." Ardelia had always said this in her Eartha Kitt voice that made Clarice laugh. The shoes that he had left for her in the photo booth had disappeared by the time she had made it back into the station concourse after arguing the toss with Clint Pearsall. For an instant she had felt a real flare of jealous anger. They had been meant for her, not some idle traveller.  
  
These shoes were barely made for walking. Any running and she would have to take them off. The waterfront was quiet. It was still early. Couples strolling in the heat; groups of men at tables arguing and gesticulating, some just watching. Turning west into the barrio it was instantly quieter except for the boys on scooters, shirts open flapping like flags, weaving down the middle of the road like drunken mosquitoes.  
  
Ten minutes later and Clarice was in the square. The café was quiet – no other working girls that she could see. The last thing she wanted was a catfight. She picked a table with a good view of the meeting point and ordered a Jack Daniels with plenty of ice and water. She lit a cigarette and inhaled half-heartedly. She hated smoking but felt that right now it was a necessary evil if she was going to look genuine. She dropped her hand and let the smoke curl up her fingers as she eyed the alley.  
  
The light from the lamp across the square was suddenly obscured. She peered into the darkness.  
  
"Ill met by moonlight Clarice."  
  
He moved imperceptibly so that the light fell on the table again. She could just see his eyes flaring in the reflected light. He was dressed all in black but with no fedora tonight – a silk shirt again, loose jacket, and a black silk tie with an intricate design that glinted like chased Toledo steel. He looked at her a little askance.  
  
"Very fetching Clarice although I still think you would look devastating in green and the shoes .... quite unsuitable for hot pursuit if that is what you had in mind."  
  
He reached inside his jacket pocket and removed a thick silver clip of notes and peeled off three, folded them carefully in half and watching her intently, placed them under her glass.  
  
"Dr Lecter. I'm working right now and you are getting in the way"  
  
"Hmm. So I see. However, I am sure you would find business much more lucrative outside one of the telo's in Palermo" His lips were beginning to twitch.  
  
He sat down carefully in the chair opposite and looked at her quizzically. "So, how does it feel Special Agent Starling, selling yourself body and soul ?"  
  
"I am asking you to leave Doctor while I finish what I have to do. Please take your money and go"  
  
Dr Lecter looked at her fixedly for a moment. "Should I flounce as I depart, for the benefit of your guardians? A spurned customer. Would that add some dramatic verisimilitude to your little charade do you think?"  
  
Clarice looked daggers at him. "I'll be more than happy to deal with you later Dr. Lecter, but not right now" she said savagely  
  
"I could be quite hurt by that Clarice – concentrating on capturing a second rate drugs baron rather than one of the FBI's 10 most wanted. I do hope you have your priorities ordered appropriately however, far be it from me to redirect your righteous energies." He paused. "I look forward to accommodating you at your convenience, Clarice." He gave her a smile as smooth as old cognac.  
  
He retrieved the notes with a quick movement of his fingers, without touching the glass and carefully placed the crisp paper into the silver clip again.  
  
He elevated himself smoothly from his chair, and produced a chilly smile.  
  
"Good hunting" He looked up at the night sky briefly. "We are still under Orion. Remember Clarice, in the dark, you should never look straight ahead." He fashioned an irritated flick of his fingers for the benefit of their observers, turned and drifted swiftly into the darkness.  
  
Clarice swallowed hard and concentrated on getting her breathing under control again. She glanced up the alley. No action.  
  
'Shit' Well, why hadn't she mentioned these encounters to Jose and the others ? Because they wouldn't believe her ? No, that wasn't it. She could feel something pulling at her. A desire as strong as the hunger she had felt when she first went to college, promising herself a degree and a place at Quantico.  
  
She wanted to talk to him, properly, in a civilised way. Free from all restrictions and reservations. '  
  
'And why is that do you think ?' Because I am curious to see what he is like unconfined.  
  
'Why ?' Because ... and here she halted. This was getting uncomfortable. She was fascinated. She could admit that much. Clarice remembered as a child, being transfixed by the glowing pine logs in the fire and her father batting her hand away when she stretched out to touch. Attracted to what is fatal to you – the addicts edict. 'Fascinated by what ?' By his mind. By who he is. My purpose is to divine his essence as he delved into mine. Quid pro quo.  
  
Clarice snapped awake. A dust covered Mercedes came to a halt in the alley and dowsed its lights. The car filled the roadway leaving just enough room on both sides for the doors to open.  
  
Clarice could distinguish no faces in the gloom. The passenger door opened and a tall man with a hooked nose and a cigarette hanging from his lips studied the building overshadowing the driver's side He looked up and down the alleyway and adjusted his ear-piece. The driver got out and also had a good look around. Finally the rear door on the drivers side opened, a short square man positioned himself alongside the rear bumper and finally their quarry appeared from the back seat, dressed in an open necked white shirt and wearing dark glasses.  
  
Clarice knocked her bag off the table, and scrabbled on the cobbles, picking up the spilled contents, while keeping a close eye on the action in the alley. Diego Valdes moved swiftly into the building followed by the driver and the thick-necked guy carrying a large Nike sports bag.  
  
Clarice swivelled, still half hidden under the table, looking for Jose and the others. Nothing. She carefully placed herself on her chair again, and lit another cigarette. The tall guy looked a little restless, tapping his fingers on the car roof, taking quick draws on his cigarette, looking up and down the alley every 5 seconds or so.  
  
Clarice checked her watch. 3 minutes since they had arrived. What was Jose waiting for ? She thought about vacating her table and retreating to drag Jose and the others out of hiding. No. Her job was to watch.  
  
She sipped her drink and watched through the smoke idly rising from her cigarette.  
  
5 minutes. Something must be wrong. Jose had indicated at the briefing that they needed to go in hard and fast.  
  
Clarice stubbed out her cigarette. She had to buy time. She stood up and arranged the bag over her shoulder so that she could get at her piece, easily. She made sure her skirt was mid thigh, tossed her hair and made her way across the square to the Mercedes, taking her time. The tall guy noticed her when she was about 30 feet away. He made token attempts to look up the alley but it was clear that his attention was concentrating someplace else. 'And why not ?' thought Clarice. 'I still run 3 miles a day. I still push weights. I am a size 8 and I look good in off the shoulder red lycra and heels, whatever the Good Doctor might say.'  
  
"¿Tenes un cigarrillo?" Clarice could do husky as well as Ardelia, especially after two cigarettes and some cheap whiskey.  
  
Clarice glanced at the doorway and up to the first floor windows and then back into the square as the tall guy felt for his pack of cigarettes and lighter. Nothing. She was still scanning the building where Jose and the others were supposed to be holed up when she felt herself being spun around and thrown across the front of the Mercedes. The tall guy had his full weight on top of her and was scrabbling for one of her wrists. He had one leg between hers and his other foot wedged against the kerb.  
  
Clarice didn't hesitate. She raked one of her heels down his shin and stamped it hard into his foot. He cried out and involuntarily stepped back. She drove back into him, desperately reaching for her bag. It slid off the bonnet into the gutter. He had fallen backwards, awkwardly. She turned and struck him once across the larynx. She caught the coiled cord to his earpiece with the blow and as it fell out of his ear she heard Jose's voice, high pitched, screaming.  
  
Clarice could hear feet pounding down the stairs of the building and shutters slamming open. She looked to her right and saw Bernie and Zack sprinting across the square. Bernie's expression was savage. She slipped out of both her shoes, clutched them in one hand and began running up the alley, into the darkness.


	7. Frying pan fire

Apologies for the delay folks – RL; work; holidays and other pathetic excuses. Barring nasty surprises at work this should now bowl along at a reasonable rate as extensive hand written notes now transcribed to PC – editing; editing; editing (yawn)

Summary : Clarice finds herself caught between a rock and a hard spot

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of Thomas Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit whatsoever is made by the owner, creators, moderators, members or contributors of this site._

Clarice heard shouts behind her. There was a light at the end of the alley about 50 yards away. She sprinted towards the opposite corner, which was darker and turned right. A narrow street lit dimly by lights from half open shutters on a couple of balconies. Left and then right again between corrugated iron shacks, splashing through water and rubbish. Waiting for the slash of glass on the soles of her feet, she ran lightly on her toes, hardly touching the ground.

She was breathing hard. She came out into another narrow road with a light in the distance. Instinctively she turned away from the illumination and almost immediately heard running feet coming out of the dark. Before she could decide what to do a shape materialised out of a doorway beside her. She saw the curve and sheen of a steel blade, like a whetted scimitar

There was more than one set of running feet. From the other end of the road she heard a Ducatti gunning it's engine and saw the headlight. She didn't pause. She grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket and pulled him into the doorway, wrapped one arm around the back of his neck pulled him in to her and pressed her lips against his. 'Dramatic verisimilitude' is what he had said. 'Well, let's see who can fool who.' There was some initial resistance when she put her hand around the back of his neck but he was too swift not to appreciate the situation and her solution.

For Clarice this was simply a recurrent dream; an old friend. The first time she had startled awake, sweating, breathing hard and had got up and gone to the bathroom to splash water over her face and brush her teeth. The second time she simply lay stiff in her bed. After that she recognised it for what it was – a mechanism for habituation. She had always chosen to face monsters. She knew this was the best way. Facing him in her dreams, she reasoned, was another way of facing him down, of rationalising him into flesh and blood. His lips were nothing like she remembered, in or out of sleep. Soft. Still.

Dr Lecter smiled inwardly. He didn't believe in fate as an autonomous force, simply in the ability to see opportunities to be seized. What a perfect solution to a potentially bloody problem ! He remembered as a child picking up a small rabbit, a fine tremor rippling its muscles, the smoothness of its fur. He could feel her muscles, tense, the same fine tremor, just a touch of fear. Electric. Delicious. He began to explore her lower lip, tentatively.

The Doctor, despite all his senses being fully occupied was still aware of drumming feet on cobbles, the roar of the motorbike, shouted imprecations in the dark. He felt her hand and arm tense around his neck. He carefully placed his hand at the curve of her waist, to reassure and moved his head a little, partly to see what was going on and partly to lick his lips.

He drew back a fraction to look at her. There was, some desperation in her eyes. There was still movement and shouts towards the darkened end of the road. Clarice was concerned that Jose or one of the others would recognise his back, but listening to the voices, she could only hear barrio Spanish and maybe Jose's near hysterical tenor

He wrapped his other arm around her waist and pulled her fractionally closer. She gave him an old fashioned look and then draped both her hands around his neck.

"Is this authentic enough do you think ?" cool as an iced daquiari.

"Very good Clarice, although a leg tastefully draped around my hip would probably complete the tableau. Comfortable ?" he smiled playfully and moved his head very slowly to breathe on her neck. "Can you see anything ?" he murmured and as feet pounded on the roadway behind him and Clarice craned a little to get a better look, he struck and used his teeth to mark her on one exposed shoulder. Clarice gasped but could do very little with movement still going on in the roadway.

He ran his tongue lazily over the bruise he had made and then leaned back a little to watch her reaction. He thought she might spit at him but instead she let her arms drop and stiffened in his grasp. Clearly this particular coupling was over. Pity, his hand fitted perfectly in to the curve below her ribs.

"They've gone" she said shortly

"Hmm. What a shame. I thought for one moment there that you were almost beginning to enjoy yourself Clarice."

He stepped back half a pace and looked at her as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

"What next Agent Starling ?" He raised an eyebrow. "At the very least I think your colleagues sold you down the river and at the worst, they purposely put you in harms way."

Clarice leaned against the doorway at her back to catch her breath and to think. She felt as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. She remembered Bernie's face. They had been playing for keeps. They wanted her dead.

"I would be desolated if you didn't accept some old Spanish hospitality for at least one night" The Doctor drawled this invitation and looked at her through half closed eyes. He was curious to see how much resistance she would put up to this suggestion.

Clarice examined her options as coolly as her winded mental state would allow. She had no idea if the DEA hierarchy in Washington knew anything about this. The chances of them believing her were not good, given her previous history. She had no contacts in the local force and they certainly wouldn't believe her, appearing out of the blue. The embassy ? – this might buy her some time but wouldn't the others get there first with some sort of plausible cover story ?

"Do you have a phone ? I need to call the embassy"

Dr Lecter looked at her quizzically. "Do you think that is wise Clarice ?"

"I have no passport or any other ID"

"As you wish" and he carefully handed her his phone from his inside jacket pocket.

She had memorised the emergency number she had been given in Washington. It was the mobile number of the night desk officer.

It rang 8 times before it was picked up. There was loud music and voices in the background. 'A club somewhere' thought Clarice

"Yeah. Duty Officer" The words were a little slurred.

"This is Special Agent Starling with the DEA. I need to see you and your security liason officer right now"

"This is who ? – I'm sorry you're going to have to speak up"

Clarice repeated her request.

"Just a minute, I need to confer here for a moment" The background noise was muffled for a moment and then, straining to hear, the music came back and with it, unmistakably, Jose's high tenor.

Clarice froze and immediately cut the connection. She returned the phone to the Doctor with blank eyes.

" The State Department as helpful and accommodating as ever, I see. My invitation still stands"

Clarice could feel a chill in the air.

"Frying pan or fire Clarice ? I would urge some speed with your decision – I think it's going to rain and a night on wet streets in your current state would be very uncomfortable." His lips were twitching again. Her dilemma and the internal arguments playing out over her features were more amusing than watching a child trying to choose between two sweetmeats.

Clarice looked him straight in the eye and only saw a bland enquiry.

"My car is not very far away. I live about a half hours drive away. I have ample space for guests. No strings, Clarice, no exotic meals."

"I guess I don't have a choice"

"You always have a choice Clarice, but common sense would dictate that this offer may be the best you can expect tonight. May I ?"

Dr. Lecter indicated the shoes that she still had in her left hand. Clarice felt too disconnected to argue. He crouched down. Removed the shoes from her hand and as she hung onto the side of the doorway he very carefully put the shoes on, fitting the slings very precisely above the curve of her heels. His hands hardly touched her feet. He stood beside her and offered her his arm. Clarice took it almost gratefully. Her feet were hurting and she felt in need of some support.

The cloth of his jacket was a silky linen. The arm underneath felt completely relaxed. He adjusted the length of his steps and his pace to what she could mange in her impossible heels. He seemed to know exactly where he was going. They paused before each corner while he briefly checked the intersection. The only sounds were city sounds. Traffic in the distance; scooters; arguments behind shuttered windows; music; slamming doors; the barking of dogs.

They came to a street a little wider than the others with cafes on either side and cars parked at an angle to the pavement. They strolled towards a Mercedes 450 SL Sports in silver grey with a soft top. A small figure with a curled mop of black hair, leapt up from the pavement at the front of the car.

"All safe and I polished the badge." Clarice saw a boy with bright, intelligent eyes and a tattered T shirt and shorts, standing proudly by the driver's door. Dr Lecter murmured something and gave the boy a folded bank note. The boy ran around to the other side and opened the car door for Clarice and gave her a wink as she settled herself into the champagne leather interior. "Buenas noches." He grinned at her broadly as he shut the door. He took the tail end of his T shirt and polished the handle and then moved out into the street to stop the traffic, to allow Dr Lecter to back out. He waved, and disappeared into the crowds.

"That's one of the advantages of living in a country with an economy constantly in flux – it's always easy to find reliable help. I would recommend keeping your eyes open for your friends Clarice. Do you know what sort of cars they have ?"

"We used taxis all the time. Jose has a Ducatti"

She saw nothing of her compadres during the trip to Dr Lecter's residence. While they drove, Dr. Lecter pointed out occasional museums, restaurants and bookshops . After half an hour, they entered a quieter neighbourhood with gated residences and trees planted on the sidewalks. They drove past a small park, in darkness at this time of night and almost immediately stopped beside the entrance to a driveway of what looked like an old colonial merchant's house with some elaborate plaster work around the windows and almost filigreed wrought iron gates. The gates opened silently and Dr Lecter drove directly through and then around the side of the house down a ramp into an underground garage. Before the doors of the garage whirred shut, Clarice caught the scent of jacaranda.

Encased. All the phrases she could think of made her feel uncomfortable … 'you have made your bed, now you will have to lie on it.'

1631


	8. A civilised conversation

Summary : An exchange of views in a civilised manner

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of Thomas Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit whatsoever is made by the owner, creators, moderators, members or contributors of this site._

Dr Lecter, aware of her unease, didn't linger in the car.

He ushered her through a heavy metal connecting door, without touching her into a corridor with a terrazzo floor and heavy panelled doors to right and left with elaborately curved iron handles. Through another heavy door into a small courtyard open to the night sky and with a fountain in the middle splashing placidly and surrounded by ferns, thick scented jasmine and frangipani. There was a large curved stone staircase at one side of the courtyard leading to a mezzanine level and a covered balcony which ran all around the inside of the building. This second level was discreetly lit with uplighters at intervals. They cast an amber glow which spilled out over the balcony into the courtyard below. Clarice felt as if she had stepped into an advertisement for an exclusive hotel.

Dr. Lecter directed her towards the staircase. Clarice allowed her hand to run along the balustrade – solid, polished stone. It was cool and comforting.

He went ahead of her at the top of the stairway with a murmured apology and led her along the balcony to a corner room. He opened the door and stood to one side.

"Please make yourself comfortable. There is an en suite bathroom. You will find some clothes in the wardrobe and in the armoire. Please take your time. I will be in the garden room – it leads off the courtyard, underneath this room" He gave her another bland smile and then stood to one side, with his hands together, motionless, watching. He wanted to examine her reaction as she entered the room.

Clarice removed her shoes and stepped carefully over the threshold onto a silkily buffed dark wood floor. It was like stepping into a pool of oil. There was a large double bed with curled mahogany head and foot boards made up with thick linen sheets and covered with a crushed velvet bedspread the colour of an old burgundy. There were lamps on beaten brass bases strategically placed around the room throwing arcs of ivory coloured light against the lime washed walls. The other furniture was sparse – a wardrobe, a low armoire, a dressing table with a tilting mirror and a bedside table all in variations of lustrous dark wood with coiled wrought iron handles. Her feet buried themselves into a rug of fine, bleached sisal. It felt reassuringly rustic against the soles of her feet – something rough in this smooth and polished room.

She turned to him. "Thank you. I will get cleaned up and change. I feel …. like I just stepped out of a Sears catalogue" She looked down at her shoes at the threshold of the room as she said this. There was some honest embarrassment in her voice.

Dr Lecter appreciated that she felt out of her ground and acknowledged the fact that she had admitted as much. "I had very little time to purchase what you might feel comfortable with. I hope you will find it all acceptable." Without further comment he withdrew. He had seen enough. She was a natural traveller. She had walked into the room without any hesitation, shoulders back, looking and smelling with an honest, alert curiosity. Dr Lecter was optimistic as he retired to the ground floor.

Clarice opened the wardrobe doors first – half full with casual stuff but of a quality she had never been able to afford. She could tell just by feeling the weight and the smoothness of the fabrics and the finish. Linen, silk, pima cotton – a couple of sleeveless shift dresses, slacks, loose fit shirts. In the armoire was a selection of the finest silk underwear she had ever seen wrapped in cream tissue paper.

She smiled. 'Oh yeeaaah ? and where do you think this is going to get you Doctor Lecter ?' There was something reassuring about all these arrangements – that for all his preternatural skills and overweening arrogance, he was still resorting to fine old bribery to gain …. what ? trust ? Clarice Starling willingly between silk sheets ? She almost laughed out loud. It was all so … predictable.

The bathroom was tiled in white, blue and yellow with intricate Moorish designs around the mirror and bath. The ceiling was a dark midnight blue with minute gold stars embossed over its entire expanse. The bath was deep with glowing brass taps and the largest shower head Clarice had ever seen. Clarice spent 5 minutes opening a row of indigo coloured cut glass bottles with silver caps and enjoying the contents – bath oils, gels, salts, perfumes.

She stripped and left her clothes in the middle of the white and midnight blue tiled floor and stepped under a stream of steaming hot water. This was the first decent shower she had taken in 3 weeks. She put her hands against the wall and just let the water pound over her back - excoriating. She soaped liberally with one of the gels and lathered her hair twice in the hope that some of the blonde streaks would fade away. It was a relief to just luxuriate for a while with the smells of the soap and the steam.

She buried her face into an impossibly soft towel. She put on a heavy white bath robe and padded into the bedroom. The bedside table had a hairdryer secreted behind its inlaid mahogany door and she found a collection of ivory handled brushes on the dressing table. She carefully moved the towelling away from her neck to look at the bruise on her shoulder. She felt a flare of anger. 'I'm not your fucking property, doctor.'

Half an hour later she was slowly descending the winding stairway into the dim courtyard with the sound of water splashing in the centre. She felt brand new; a tabula rasa; unknown even to herself. She had chosen some loose linen slacks and a matching shirt. Her shoes were soft loafers in a fine kid. The silk underwear next to her skin made her feel almost reckless. If he was willing to spend his money on her then why shouldn't Clarice Starling take advantage of it?

Dr. Lecter was sitting in a cane chair reading, by an open window looking out into a garden covered in darkness. The air in the room was filled with dewy evening scents. The room itself was about 20' square with a pair of long windows opening into the garden and a tiled floor covered in a chaotic array of rugs. The furniture was either cane or leather and looked as if it had been collected by an expansive traveller over many years. There were two or three table lamps illuminating different corners of the room, leaving the ceiling partly obscured by a purple dusk.

Dr. Lecter rose silently from his chair as soon as she entered and admired his choice of clothes. Clarice was aware of his minute observation but was damned if she was going to turn herself into some sort of gauche courtesan. Dr. Lecter observed her back stiffening and the tightening around the lips and jaw. "May I complement you on your choice Clarice – cool and casual. Armani suits you. Something to drink ?" before she could reply.

"Scotch please. Neat"

Dr. Lecter moved to a large cherry wood sideboard with an array of winking bottles, cut glass decanters and silver trays. He poured the amber liquid for Clarice into a heavy cut glass tumbler and refilled his own glass from a slim green bottle in a wine cooler.

Clarice made herself comfortable on a low sofa by the open window and took some slow deep breaths, enjoying the smell of damp vegetation. It had started to rain very lightly. The light from the room illuminated the drops, turning them into fine silver chaff.

Dr. Lecter handed her the glass and settled himself into his chair again. He didn't think a toast would be appropriate at this point. Her hair fell across her right cheek as she turned to look into the garden. He imagined what it would be like to sweep it away from her neck with his fingers. He remembered from before.

She turned sharply. "How did you know I was in Buenos Aires and how in hell did you know I would fetch up here ?"

He found the second part of the question almost ludicrous. Her tone was borderline aggressive.

"As soon as my gardener mentioned that an angel with a scorched soul and with hair the colour of a chestnut brood mare had moved into his mother's apartment. At first I thought you were part of a search party from the FBI – fresh bait" His teeth flashed for an instant. "But then it became apparent that you had stumbled into much more treacherous territory"

He paused

"As for the second part of your question … it seemed inevitable, given your circumstances"

Clarice coloured with anger. Dr Lecter admired the blush and the spark in her eyes.

She looked out at the soft rain – incongruous considering how she felt. The Scotch was taking effect. She laid her head back on the sofa and concentrated her mind on her predicament. No gun, no passport, no ID – all in her bag dropped in the gutter and the embassy staff fed some fairy story by Jose. So maybe she should short circuit the local mafia and call Washington direct ? What time was it there ? she looked at her watch. Midnight. If Jose had got to the duty officer at the embassy Bernie or one of the others would have already called Washington. Anyways, she didn't know anyone in the organisation. She felt completely empty.

Dr Lecter watched as bleak reality began to register. Here was something he could work with – the crack in the dam.

"Why the DEA Clarice ?"

His question jerked her back to the present. She answered almost without thinking.

"It was a job. It was set up for me. I didn't need to think. I was tired of thinking"

It sounded like a poor excuse, which it was. After the debacle by the Chesapeake, as part of her defence she had become a somnambulist. This job had promised a bruising experience to stun her awake, aside from the need to whip her demons into some semblance of order.

" That does you no justice Clarice."

"I know"

She paused for a moment.

"Also it was a test"

"A test of what Clarice ?"

"Endurance"

"Testing your strength Clarice ? Why bother when you must be the strongest person you know"

She looked at him sharply. His face remained as bland and smooth as a saucer of milk. No hint of mockery.

"I need to make contact with someone in the States to let them know what's happened" Clarice stirred in her seat with impatience.

"Why ?" This was more a statement than a question, from the Doctor

Clarice paused and stared at him. "Because I need to lay down a marker before I disappear into the night"

"As you wish. I do have a broad band connection here or a phone"

Clarice pondered her options. Pearsall perhaps ? he of the resigned expression and wilted collar tips. He had at least believed her when she had let loose in Noonan's office. He knew that she had no time for bullshit, that she told things as she saw them.

So, what to tell him ? – yes the whole caboose of Jose and his crew - that he would believe – not that he would be able to do anything. Then what ? that she had accepted hospitality from Dr Lecter ? Ridiculous. She could ask him to wire her some money, possibly, for a new identity. Would he do that much for her ? Unlikely. So … it would have to be the DEA in Washington, someone high enough up the pecking order to be relatively immune to Bernie's or whoever's blandishments. And what would they say ? – go to the local office in Buenos Aires and talk to the people there – any protests on her part and she would be branded as an hysterical female – in a job beyond her capabilities. She knew this. She had seen it before.

Round and round in circles like a rat on a wheel. She could feel the Gordian knot tightening in her gut.

Dr Lecter carefully modulated his voice. "May I suggest that you get a good night's rest before making any career defining decisions regarding your future"

The thought of the huge double bed with crisp white sheets, waiting for her upstairs weighed on Clarice's body like a Kevlar blanket. She concentrated.

"Before I forget my manners in the morning Dr. Lecter, I would like to thank you for your hospitality and for …." Clarice paused searching for the right words "being here …. right now." The words came out stiffer than she intended. She was grateful, almost pathetically grateful for a safe haven.

Dr. Lecter merely inclined his head. "The pleasure, I can assure you, is all mine, and if it makes you feel easier, I view our meeting very much as happenstance rather than part of any grand design on my part" He stared into his wine. "In general I prefer events to occur spontaneously – there are more surprises that way" He looked at her over the top of his glass, eyes intent now and with a smile that she remembered from Baltimore.

" I've had enough surprises for one night thank you Doctor Lecter" She said this almost sourly. She took another sip of her Scotch. It was very good. Smoky and as smooth as mountain honey.

"I have a housekeeper who comes in the morning. Shall I ask her to bring your breakfast to your room?"

Her fatigue and the scotch were weighing her down. The simplest answer seemed to be 'Yes'

He rose smoothly out of his chair and escorted her to the base of the stone stairway.

"Sleep well Clarice. We will talk some more on the morrow"

Clarice wasn't too sure how to take the last comment – as an invitation or a threat.

'Be careful, Clarice. Don't relax, don't let him fool you' But Clarice couldn't be bothered to listen right now.


	9. Outlaw, Clarice Starling

Apologies for the delay folks – RL; work; holidays and other pathetic excuses. Barring nasty surprises at work this should now bowl along at a reasonable rate as extensive hand written notes now transcribed to PC – editing; editing; editing (yawn)

Summary : Clarice has a lovely breakfast followed by another nasty surprise. The chess game proceeds.

_Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Clarice Starling and other characters contained in these posts were created by and are the intellectual property of Thomas Harris. They are used herein without permission, but in the spirit of admiration and respect. No infringement of copyright is intended, and no profit whatsoever is made by the owner, creators, moderators, members or contributors of this site._

Despite her expectations Clarice slept almost as soon as she had arranged her pillows, comfortably – one under her head and one close up against her back.

An hour or so later her bedroom door opened and the Doctor moved silently on bare feet to the side of her bed. There was some diffuse illumination coming through the muslin curtains. The Doctor stood absolutely still for about 10 minutes, closely examining the rate and depth of her breathing, the spread of her hair on the pillow, the shape of her hand against the bed sheets the drape of the sheets over her shoulders and breasts. He glided to the base of the bed and carefully lifted the sheets to examine her feet. They were as he remembered. Satisfied, he replaced the sheets with elaborate care and retired to the library.

Clarice remembered no dreams when she woke at 7.30 am. There was someone tapping at her door. She mumbled a greeting and the door opened smoothly admitting a small broad hipped lady with grey hair tied smoothly and severely back into a bun. She wore a large starched white apron over an impeccably pressed grey frock with a curved white collar. She was carrying a very large silver tray and moved sideways like a small hermit crab on tiny feet encased in tightly laced ankle boots with small heels.

Dr Lecter's housekeeper didn't look at Clarice until she had placed the tray precisely over Clarice's lap then she cocked her head to one side, like a sparrow. She had rather dour features with a thin mouth turned down into the creases of her chin. Suddenly she smiled broadly. Her eyes squeezed shut at the same time so the effect was of a sunny Inuit, greeting the light of the day after a long polar night

She leaned forward to re arrange the pillows behind Clarice's back and to open up a linen napkin the size of a small tablecloth and to drape this around Clarice's shoulders. She gave Clarice another reassuring smile.

She turned to the window to open the curtains as Clarice smoothed her hands over the silky starched damask covering her chest.

She returned to the bedside indicated the time on her watch and carefully moved the hour hand to read 9.0 and then pointed to the garden room where Clarice had been last night. Her lips remained firmly compressed throughout this charade but her eyes were coal bright and expressive and Clarice took this to mean that the Doctor expected her downstairs at that hour. Clarice smiled in return and said "Gracias." The housekeeper dipped a little curtsey and almost tripped out of the room on her small feet, heels tapping against the polished wood.

Clarice turned her attention to the tray. She was very hungry. Orange juice in a tall slender champagne glass, warm croissants wrapped in another napkin, butter, apricot jam and then under the lid of a small silver chafing dish the lightest scrambled egg Clarice had ever seen with finely sliced smoked salmon placed on top of incredibly thin, slightly curled toast with some sprigs of fresh coriander. There were silver salt and pepper shakers on the tray, shaped like tiny incense burners and two slender silver knives and a fork with heavy bevelled handles which sat snugly into the palm of Clarice's hands. There was a small cafetiere and a tiny white porcelain jug filled with cream and a silver bowl containing brown sugar crystals and tongs along with a glisteningly smooth white cup and saucer.

Clarice felt as if she could have wolfed the entire contents of the tray in three gulps but tempered her enthusiasm. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble with this – the least she could do was savour the result, besides, she was tired of bolting down fast food of one sort or another, just because it was fuel. The orange juice was fresh and rich, the food meltingly smooth and the coffee felt clean and coruscating as she drank it down.

Clarice moved the tray to one side on the bed with difficulty and swung her feet onto the sisal. The sensation of the rough fibres against her feet snapped her into the present and her dilemma of last night – who to call ? It was still Pearsall but only with the expectation of him bearing witness. No more.

The decision and the reason for it made Clarice feel better. The rest would have to wait. She knew that up to a point she was at the mercy of Dr. Lecter's plans for her. What help would he offer if any ? and at what price ? 'Cross that bridge when you get to it girl'

Clarice dressed in a silk shift dress – pale emerald with leather strap sandals with a low heel. These she could almost run in. She discovered in one of the drawers of the armoire, exquisite gold stud earrings in the shape of miniature entwined lilies. She spent a long time brushing her hair – the glossier it was, the less obvious the botched blond streaks.

Clarice paused and looked over the balcony as she left her room. Dr Lecter was in the courtyard below, at the base of the stairs signing to the housekeeper. She was responding with quick fingers, a little bent with arthritis but still swift. They were clearly deep in conversation.

Clarice watched fascinated, the housekeeper, bobbing and weaving and dipping her head to emphasise the words flashing off her hands, the Doctor standing still and absolutely straight, just his hands and fingers moving, but his eyes intense. The conversation terminated with the housekeeper dipping her small curtsy and disappearing behind the fountain.

Doctor Lecter moved purposefullly towards the garden room running his finger tips over the plants to right and left as he moved. His movements this morning were springy to Clarice's eye like a dog ready to hunt. She thought that he was humming under his breath. Clarice made her way down the stairs, breathing evenly and savouring the sound of the fountain – playful this morning, she fancied, like the Good Doctor's demeanour.

The Doctor stood up from his chair by the window as soon as she entered the room and studied her unblinkingly. "I'm gratified that I made the correct choice. You look ravishing in green. Please, come and sit down so that we may resume our conversation." He indicated the chair opposite his, positioned to have a good view of the garden which Clarice could see now, in the daylight, was heavily planted with camelias, bouganvilea, geraniums, acacia and mimosa. The effect was of an exotic but precisely sculpted jungle almost rampantly chaotic but not quite. To one side Clarice could see the stooped back of an elderly man with a large floppy straw hat working around some large terracotta pots filled with rosemary and lavender.

"So, have you decided what you would like to do Clarice ?"

"Yes" Clarice sat with both feet firmly planted on the floor. "I need to call Clint Pearsall in Washington and just give him verse and chapter, not in the expectation that he can or will do anything to help but simply to put down a marker. Of all the people I know, he is the most likely person to believe my side of the story. That is very important to me, that there is a least one person in the organisation who knows exactly what went down"

Dr Lecter observed her calmly for a minute. Clarice stared back at him steadily. He was content. The way she had said this pretty little speech, her tone, a little defiant, the way she sat so stubbornly in the chair, it looked like someone closing a bank account against professional advice. He had high hopes. One chapter closing, and another opening. The anticipation was the real pleasure, as always.

"May I suggest that you make this call, which might be quite long and drawn out, from one of the bookshops in Tribunales. The store I am thinking of has a good café with a couple of quiet and discrete telephone booths and reliable internet connections, should you wish to make use of those as well. It will allow me to review some books I am planning to buy." His smile was non-committal

'And eliminates the chance of the phone in this house being traced' thought Clarice. 'Fair enough. Quid pro quo. I have accepted his hospitality – play by his rules for now'

"I also need to know if you shared your special knowledge of my whereabouts with anyone else"

"No"

"Really ? That is very intriguing Clarice. We must explore this decision some more at our leisure"

Dr Lecter observed the calculations going on behind Clarice's eyes with some amusement. As a child he had fished for salmon in a treacherous and fast flowing river with his Father. The prospect of playing and persuading this particular prize onto his table was enough to fill his mouth with saliva.

They drove to the bookstore with the top down. Doctor Lecter asked if she minded listening to some music on the way. With neat, economical movements he loaded Mozart's Abduction from the Seraglio into the CD player. "I think that this will suit very well – full of fun " He winked at her but then cast on her that fine full on fountain smile. It took Clarice by surprise, again. The ride was exhilarating for her – hair whipped back from her face by the speed; the Doctor talking entertainingly about the merchant origins of Buenos Aires; Mozart filling her with optimism and as an additional surprise for Clarice, many admiring looks for her from other drivers when they stopped at intersections. For Clarice this was almost a guilty pleasure. 'I shouldn't be here. I'm here under false pretences.'

Dr Lecter viewed her reactions, askance. "You should bask in this approbation Clarice. It might not last for ever and it is good to have your own high opinion of yourself credited from time to time." He paused for a moment. " I think you are in sore need of some outrageous flattery, Clarice. So I will start by saying that even sack cloth and ashes looks like Coco Chanel draped over your form" He turned towards her and beamed. "We have arrived" He turned into an underground car park. They walked for about ten minutes to reach the store. He asked her no more questions but simply explained about the books he was planning to buy – a new biography of Handel, a first edition of poems by an Argentinian author of whom Clarice had never heard and a first edition of Newton's Principia Mathematica that he had purchased in an auction and had been shipped to this bookseller for collection.

The shop was long and narrow, two storeys high, open to the curved ceiling which was heavily embossed and decorated with gilded cherubs and indeterminate deities. There was a large circular glass cupola in the centre shedding a diffuse light into the interior.

"It used to be a vaudeville theatre. As you can see, they retained some of the original features." Dr Lecter waved his right hand vaguely towards the ceiling.

There was an extravagant Rococco balcony on the first level and everywhere, floor to ceiling books with mahogany sliding ladders to reach the upper shelves.

Doctor Lecter greeted the proprietor sitting behind a heavy mahogany desk by the front door, an elderly gentleman with silver hair swept back from a high forehead and tiny gimlet eyes. His lips looked almost purple in the rather dull light. Opposite the desk was a bench with three other men in their sixties or seventies, leaning on walking sticks, smoking, reading, whispering.

The proprietor mumbled a greeting and then moved very slowly to bring out a package from under the table wrapped in brown paper and twine, secured with multiple dabs of red sealing wax. There was a long conversation, money was exchanged while Clarice wandered between the stacks of books, moving towards the back of the store, lured by the scent of fresh coffee. At the rear was an open bar area with a polished oak floor, leather easy chairs and small wrought copper tables, green with age and strewn with books and newspapers. This area opened into a small courtyard with a high wall decorated with random enamelled and terra cotta tiles. There were a series of small round tables shaded by sailcloth umbrellas and in the corner a small fountain. They were playing a Vivaldi concerto for mandolin, very softly on a well concealed sound system.

Clarice finally spotted the two telephones tucked into a corner behind the shelves selling art books. There were low leather armchair with wings, provide for the callers to recline in, while conversing.

Dr Lecter appeared at her elbow. "Here – a telephone card – enough for an hours conversation – will that be enough do you think?"

Clarice gave him a measured look. "That will be more than enough, thank you Doctor"

It took 10 toe tapping minutes to get through to Pearsall.

"Clarice ! great to hear from you !" There was real surprise in his voice "How ya doing ?" She could hear some movements at the other end of the line.

"I'm sorry Clint, is this a bad time? – I can call again."

"No, no absolutely not Clarice – please, please, just tell me everything … that's been going on with you"

His choice of words and the hesitation in his voice tapped at the back of Clarice's brain, but she plunged on. The story was short in the telling even with Clint stopping her every second paragraph to clarify something or to get her to repeat a name. "If I'm going to be able to help you here I really need all the ins and outs Clarice". She began to think that he had just come in from a stake out or something – washed up and slow with lack of sleep.

"Hey Clint, you sound as though you need a real strong cup of coffee"

"Yeah, yeah, I guess. Clarice … Clarice so God help me …" and at this moment she became aware of Dr Lecter standing in front of her, hands crossed in front of him, holding his package of books.

"Clint, I understand you can't do anything. I just wanted someone to know. That's all." Clarice replaced the receiver.

The Doctor gave her an old fashioned look. "Time to move on, I think" and he directed her towards the front door. They walked without dawdling in the opposite direction to the car park. As they reached the corner of the next block they heard sirens. Two police cars mounted the pavement outside the book shop. As they rounded the corner Clarice heard the unmistakeable cough of Jose's Ducatti.

There was a taxi parked by the kerb, the driver apparently asleep. Dr Lecter tapped sharply on the window and flashed his silver clip of notes. They were moving within the next 10 seconds as another police car came round the corner.

"They are very keen to muzzle you Clarice. Why might that be ? Are you sure you didn't tell them that we had met ?"

"I told you no"

"Then you must have seen or heard something incriminating"

Clarice reeled back to her original briefing in Washington. Had she missed something ? Had they wanted her to act as a mole? If that was the case then the information she had been given had been woefully lacking. No, this was something local. Then she remembered Jose's unease when Zack had mentioned her talking with Dr Lecter in the square. Was that it ? They were on the take and thought she was a plant and that she had met her contact in broad daylight ? Yes that must be it. But how had they spread the poison so quickly - all the way to the FBI and Pearsall in particular ?

"Modern communications. A wonderful tool don't you think Clarice ?" The Doctor smiled at her again. "So much for markers and old friends"

"We will be safe for a while. Senor Borges – the owner of the bookstore, lost two sons when the Generals were in power. There is no love lost there between the authorities and his family but we will have to leave the city for a while. You agree ?"

Clarice balked at the word "we" but this latest episode had shaken her. She now viewed herself as a true outlaw completely dependent upon the Good Doctor's offices to survive.

"You could always offer your services on one of the freight steamers Clarice, if you were desperate to leave or hitch hike to Mexico or ….. many possibilities in a capital city as large as this as I am sure you are aware." The doctor didn't look at her as he ticked off these possibilities on his fingers."

"You've got my attention Dr Lecter. Yes. I agree."

"How gratifying. I am very relieved to see that you haven't completely lost your sense of self preservation."

The Doctor directed the taxi to do three circuits, with its windows open, around the building in which the underground car park was housed before he allowed it to stop. He made two calls on his mobile while they were cruising in circles. The drive back was even swifter than the trip into the city and Dr Lecter directed Clarice to pack as quickly as possible. "Galena will help you"

The urgency of his movements galvanised Clarice. The housekeeper appeared with a leather suitcase with heavy straps and took over the packing, clicking her tongue as she did so. Clarice kept out of the way.

In ten minutes she was standing by the fountain with Galena, the case at her feet. The elderly gardener appeared clutching his hat with one hand and a pair of secateurs in the other. He looked at Clarice with mild rheumy eyes and made the sign of the cross in the direction of her head. Galena frowned at him with concentrated irritation.

Dr Lecter appeared with his own luggage and a soft black kid case containing his lap top. There was a brief conversation with Galena just the whispering of cotton against linen as he moved his hands. Galena curtseyed and the gardener dipped his head. Galena grasped both Clarice's hands with her wide smile, and then ushered the pair of them down the corridor to the garage.

They were on the road in another 3 minutes travelling west.


End file.
